


Hey Brother

by LadyIsabella



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Camping, Daddy Kink (mentioned), M/M, NSFW in Chapter 2!, One Shot, Oral Sex, Outlaws in love people!, Pseudo-Incest, Some Plot, fluffy feels!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIsabella/pseuds/LadyIsabella
Summary: Arthur has missed John, terribly, and Dutch notices the looks between them. He sends them off on a fake job, to let them get their smut on :P It’s JohnxArthur in a tent basically :P with some plot!Porn is in chapter two mainly :P Fluffy feels in the rest!I love reading comments so please share what you think :) Good or bad!Inspired by WeNeedARuse, who got me hooked on this fandom with their epic sexy times :P !





	1. Stop Staring and Get!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WeNeedARuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/gifts).



Horseshoe Overlook - 1899

Arthur had to admit that Hosea had been right. This place was a good spot for the camp. Good protection, close to town for supplies but far enough away to avoid any undue attention, good hunting just over the way and near the river or water and fishing. It was damn good, actually. 

“Hell...After the mountains  anything would have done,” he muttered to himself as he strolled towards his tent. 

“Evenin’ Arthur,” Uncle called, from his usual place leant up against a tree, looking pained and tortured...just in case anyone asked him to do something unspeakable...such as work! 

Arthur nodded and called back, “Ain’t you moved all day, you lazy son of a-“

“I gots lumbago, Arthur! It’s fatal, it is!” 

“Yeah. Fatal I’m sure,” came the retort, “t’will be if Miss Grimshaw catches you eying up the girls ‘stead of cleaning up after the horses.”

Uncle gave a grimace and patted his thigh; the look of a martyr on his face. “You young ‘uns have all this coming! You best pray you get shot before you gets old...” 

Arthur laughed. “I have no doubt I will, Uncle. No doubt.” He kept walking, nodding hello to the camp’s residents. 

Mr. Pearson waved him over, “Evening Mr. Morgan, anything for the pot tonight?”

“Yeah, Pearson, there’s a deer on Livilla and a couple of rabbits. Got Lenny bringing it over. Dutch about?” 

Pearson wiped his hands on his already bloodied apron, “Ugh...Yeah, I think so. Reckon I saw him about earlier...” he glanced at Dutch’s tent but it was empty. Usually about this time he would be sitting outside, cigar in one hand, book in the other, or else flirting about with Miss O’Shea. Though not today. 

Arthur nodded, “Well, alright then. Give me a shout when the stew is done. I could eat a scabby horse tonight...Which knowing your cooking is probably what is in the pot!” He winked. He was in a playful mood tonight...Though he could not say why.

“Why Mr. Morgan I am insulted!” Pearson retorted but he laughed and waved him off. “Besides,” he added, in a lower voice, “ain’t horse, it’s dog!” 

“Say what-“

“I’m joking, Mr. Morgan. It’s rabbit. Charle’s went out hunting earlier and came back with half a dozen.” 

Arthur looked relieved. He’d eaten dog once with Dutch, it was all they had. Some mangy mutt that had been struck by the Count as they rode through some backwater town. The thing had been half starved but as they’d no money or energy to hunt they’d loaded it up onto the horse. It hadn’t tasted so bad...stringy and tough, but hell, as Dutch had said, “Waste not want not, son!”

He felt a little pang when he thought about that night, all those years ago. Him and Dutch...along. In the desert with none of the eyes or ears that the camp had usually. They could do as they liked, as noisily as they liked...and by hell they had. 

He blushed then hastily rubbed his face, as if tired. It would not do to be seen blushing! Hell, one of the girls would think he was sweet on them. 

Arthur strode to his tent without stopping again and sat down on the cot. He stretched and put his hat down beside him before looking out over the camp once more. It was alive with hustle and bustle. 

He watched Miss. Grimshaw dictating to the girls, gesturing to whatever chores needed doing...Pearson starting to skin the deer Lenny had brought over, while Lenny himself looked on, fiddling with his knife...Karen was teasing Mary-Beth, who had a book in her hand and John...

Arthur bit his lip and looked over at John. He was sitting outside his tent, whittling away or something, looking lost in thought. Either that or he’d had a telling off from Abigail. That was more likely. It seemed ever since he was attacked by the wolves up in the mountains, she’d been on him like fire on grease. 

He knew why. She loved him, for all his faults, and had been worried sick he was dead. But...she was too fiery a woman to admit that, so instead she was nagging him about his faults. He couldn’t blame her really...Hell, he’d given John a piece of his mind while he lay bleeding in that frozen cabin. 

He’d cuffed him about the head after too, when he was well enough not to pass out whenever he stood up. He’d been so goddamn scared that John would die...that he would lose his brother. Gods, he had nearly died himself to see John sitting there, bleeding, cut to ribbons, lost in the snow. 

“Bloody child,” Arthur thought to himself. John had run into danger headfirst, no sense of danger...Maybe that was his own fault. He’d run wild as a young man, and John had watched him and learnt from him. Reckless, Dutch had said, before he’d given Arthur and John a whooping for something. Maybe they’d never grown up. 

“Staring forlornly again, son?” A voice dripping with authority interrupted his thoughts. 

Arthur looked up and saw Dutch leaning against the weapon’s wagon that served as half of Arthur’s tent. He was smirking, having caught Arthur staring. 

“I ain’t staring...I’m...thinking.”

“Is that right?” Dutch smirked. “And I suppose you are not blushing either?”

Arthur felt his cheeks heat. He wished, briefly, he hadn’t shaved a few days ago. Least a beard would have hidden some of it. “Dutch...”

He heard Dutch push off the wagon and walk closer, a hand briefly laid heavy on his shoulder. “I’m not mad, son...Just be discreet.” Dutch walked past him, then took out a billfold from his waistcoat, handed it to Arthur, then called out, “John! You and Arthur head out. Stage is coming down from one of the Forts. Arthur knows where...Don’t come back without some money.” 

Arthur looked baffled a moment then hastily stuffed the money into his pocket and stood up. He grinned to himself. Dutch...He was a man and a half. He nodded to John, who wandered over, gun slung over one shoulder then they mounted up and set off. 

*

They rode in comfortable silence for a time, close together, hardly a hand space between them. 

After a while, as they drifted on the plains, with no direction, John said, “There ain’t a stage, is there?”

“Nope...” Arthur admitted, looking bashful. 

“Damn, Dutch must be in a fine mood after this move...” John smirked and cast an eye around briefly. There was no one in sight, and he was sure the bison wouldn’t talk. He leant forward, grabbed Arthur’s collar and pulled him towards him. 

Their lips met in a violent, needy kiss, both fighting for dominance. In the end Arthur won and his hand closed around John’s throat briefly before they pulled apart, gasping and laughing. 

“Shit, Marston...I need to thank those wolves for not scaring your lips too,” he teased, stroking a rough, calloused yet gentle hand down John’s cheek, thumbing over the scars. 

John laughed and batted his hand away, his own touching the scars too. “Yeah...Karen reckons it makes me look more tough...Abigail says they are ghastly and they’ve ruined my pretty face...” 

Arthur grinned. “Well...I am inclined to agree with both, but still...I wouldn’t kick you out of bed.” 

“That a promise?”

“Damn straight...Let’s make camp up on the plateau...” Arthur spurred his horse on up a small ridge and onwards. 

*

Once the campfire was crackling away happily and the tent was set up, Arthur felt rather awkward. It was different now. Dutch had been right...they were no longer boys but men, and...he blushed. He wasn’t sure how to...well start. 

He could kick himself. When they were younger, John a gangling lad of sixteen, Arthur a bit older, it had been easy. Too easy in a way. Hell, how many times had Dutch caught them...behind a wagon, up against a tree, in Arthur’s tent, in John’s...that one time in Dutch’s...That had been embarrassing. They’d been waiting for a telling off for something, fighting in whatever town they’d been near most likely and..well they’d been high on adrenaline and...

Besides, Dutch hadn’t caught them actually fucking in his tent...he’d...well John had been sucking him off. Dutch had smirked, taken a drag on his cigar and told him,  _“Arthur, son...really? Show some decorum. I raised you better than that. Take the lad to your own bed if you need to...”_ He winked and left them to it. 

They’d heard him calling to Miss Grimshaw, in his ‘Dutch’ voice, all raw authority and presence. 

Arthur smirked at the memory. He looked over the fire to where John was sitting, and said, “Come to bed...” His voice soft and gentle. He didn’t want fast and hard tonight...he wanted to hold his brother, his other-half, and re-learn his body. 

John looked up from the flames and a slow, delicious smile spread across his scarred cheeks. “Keen, Mr. Morgan?”

“Yes..it’s..been too long, brother,” he said, smiling. He emptied out the dregs of his coffee into the dirt and stood up. 

“I’ll deal with the fire,” John said, standing up as well. “I’ll be in in a moment...” he smiled again. He was happy. Relaxed. At peace. Arthur always had that effect on him. Arthur was...special. He loved Abigail, for all her nagging and judging of him, he really did love her. She’d...she loved him, for all his flaws -which she loved to point out- and she had given him a son. 

“Alright...” Arthur reached up and removed his hat then smirked and ducked into the tent. He heard John scuffing dirt onto the dying fire outside. He smiled. It was all rather domestic. Not that he was unhappy with the situation. In this life you took what you could get because at any moment you might die, or you loved one might...It was best not to dwell on what may or may not come, and just enjoy the moment. 

And he fully intended to enjoy John tonight. Several times if he had any say in it!

Arthur shrugged off his shotgun coat and tossed it into a corner.  _“Lucky Miss Grimshaw ain’t here,”_ he thought, with a smirk as he started to undo his shirt buttons. 

He heard movement behind him, and felt wiry arms go about his waist. John’s head resting on his shoulder. He must have been standing on his toes to reach. Arthur smiled and covered John’s hands with his own. 

John breathed against his neck, the smell of coffee, woodsmoke, horse and leather surrounding Arthur. “Hey brother...Missed you...” 

“Missed you too...it’s been too damn long, John...” 

“Far too long,” John replied, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s neck. “I’ve near about forgot how yourcock feels inside me..”

Arthur groaned as his cock twitched at that thought. “Shit, Marston...Don’t say things like that...or it’ll be over before you get to feel it...”

John grinned against Arthur’s skin. “And that’d be a shame...” His hand slowly moved downwards, over the rough fabric of Arthur’s shirt, heading towards his goal...

TBC.... (in about 3 seconds!) 


	2. Signs of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Arthur finally get down to some good old fashion blow job fun! Sorry...not sorry!

“Shit...” Arthur groaned and lifted himself a little from the bedroll to look down between his legs. He watched, enraptured, as John’s dark haired head bobbed in his lap. He swallowed and tossed his head back, trying desperately to fight off thoughts of coming. 

His mouth is hot and wet around his cock, drawing him into the tight, delicious heat of his throat. Bastard. “You are enjoying teasing me, ain’t you?” 

John smirked around him then pulled back slowly, pressing a chaste kiss to his straining tip before he spoke, “Dunno what you are talking about, Morgan...But I can stop if you ain’t happy?” He pulled right back, making a show of being about to stand.

Arthur’s hand, almost of its own accord, whipped out and grabbed John by his collar, “Move another inch, Marston, and I will shoot you, I swear to God...” he groaned, tugging him back down. 

“Now now, Arthur...calm yourself! Or you’ll spill on yourself like a boy!” came the mocking reply. 

Not that Arthur cared; it had the desired effect. John’s mouth back on his cock. “Shit...” he cursed again as his cock was enveloped in hot, wet heat once more. “You’ve improved since...before...Ugh...” he lay back, his skin on fire, or so it felt like anyway. “You been practicing?” 

John hummed around him and grinned as best he could. Oh he’d been practicing alright. 

“Really?” Arthur said, noting his grin. “Who with?” He asked, smirking. As if he didn’t know. 

The only response he got was a moan and a hand moving down to fondle his straining balls. 

Arthur groaned and shifted on the bedroll then said, warming to this theme and knowing John loved it, “Ah...so...Mmm...shit...so good ol’ Papa Dutch has been training you? Damn...I need to thank him..ugh...twice over it seems!” He reached down and ran his hands through John’s dark, silky hair. He remembered a time when John had thought of cutting it, saying it was too long, and it’d be easier if it was cut short. 

Both he and Dutch had been opposed to the idea and had said as much! John’s hair was part of who he was. Long, wild and untameable. Plus, as Dutch had joked,  _‘It makes holding you still easier, son!”_

At that thought, of Dutch holding John’s hair, perhaps with a cigar in the other hand, Arthur came with a shudder. It took them both by surprise. He groaned and shook and cursed, while John coughed and pulled back, the remaining seed splashed, hot and searing, over John’s scarred cheeks. 

“Damn it Arthur!” He said, though a laugh, “Warn me next time, will ya?”

Arthur reached down and grabbed John’s collar again, pulling him towards him for a kiss as hot as his own release. He tasted himself on John’s lips and groaned again. “Weren’t my fault..” he whispered, “Damn....the thought of you, on your knees for Dutch...just like I am...shit...” 

John grinned and laid his full weight on Arthur. He stroked his fingers over his brother’s cheek. “I love you, brother...remember that...”

“Always, John...always.” 


End file.
